


Nothing More Artistic

by Booksrgood4u



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booksrgood4u/pseuds/Booksrgood4u
Summary: "The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." - Vincent Van GoghIn which Inej disappears, Kaz is a thief, and Wylan runs away with the plot as per their usual.





	Nothing More Artistic

"The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." - Vincent Van Gogh 

***

No Mourners, No Funerals. That’s what they always said. No one to remember them. To them it was just the way of the world. But Wylan was not of that world - not really. It occurred to him after their escape from Black Veil that there was a disturbingly high chance that not all of them would make it out of this alive. He thought of his mother, how she turned to art to preserve her memories of him and all she had lost. Wylan was nothing if not his mother’s son, and he thought that, no matter what happened, the memory of these people- these fearless people he had come to think of as friends - deserved to be preserved too.

It was harder than he could have imagined - not at all like sketching the impassive models he was used to. Figure drawing was one thing, but capturing the spirit of a subject faithfully was quite another, one that Wylan had never had reason to strive for in the past. Kaz’s intensity. Inej’s grace, even in stillness. Matthias’ stalwartness. Nina’s spark. Jesper’s constant energy. Wylan filled up pages upon pages, trying to capture it all just right. He did his best to be discreet, finding that the best material came from natural moments of interaction between the crew. He thought that Kaz might have caught on to him at some point, but Wylan was relieved when he made no comment. While the finished products might not have been up to the standards of his tutors, Wylan was intensely proud of the tiny bits of life he had captured between the pages of his sketchbook.

So it was with dismay that he discovered, several weeks later, that some of his precious masterpieces were missing. When his mother, just settling in and starting to have lucid moments, had asked to see some of his work, he had not hesitated to flip to the pages filled with the memories of his friends. There was Matthias and Nina curled up on a tiny couch together, Jesper and Mr. Fahey catching up over mugs of coffee, Kaz staring out the window with his scheming face. Conspicuously absent, though, was Inej. He ticked off the missing drawings in his mind - Inej deep in conversation with Kaz, laughing with Nina over some decadent dessert they’d asked Mr. Fahey to order, Inej with her eyes closed and her lips moving, praying to her saints for their safety. More upsetting still was that the girl herself was oceans away vanquishing slavers, and who, along with Nina and Matthias, was sorely missed by those she’d left behind. The loss of those few pages felt like watching her sail away all over again.

It was weeks later that Wylan and Jesper met up with Kaz late at night, with some business about shares in one of the Dregs newer, more legitimate establishments. Wylan lost interest when Kaz and Jesper started discussing other matters concerning the Dregs, but his eyes caught on the smallest corner of paper peeking out of the pocket of Kaz’s waistcoat. Wylan could tell from the texture of the edge that it was good quality drawing paper, the kind he preferred. He wondered idly if Kaz had taken up sketching, before a thought occurred to him. It was a suspicious, paranoid sort of thought, the kind he never had before leaving his father’s house and getting tangled up with the Dregs. He tried to dismiss it, sure that Kaz had much more important things to steal then pages from Wylan’s sketchbook. Like DeKappel paintings and stacks of Kruge. And yet, if Wylan was any judge, there was one thing that Kaz valued more than power and money, and that thing was currently half a world away, and her likeness, up until recently, in the pages of Wylan’s sketchbook.

If Wylan had been so bold as to pull the page from Kaz’s pocket, he would have found his lost drawing of Inej hovering by Kaz’s side, intent in conversation. If he were ever so fortunate as to score an invitation to Kaz’s office, he would have found the drawing of Inej’s laughter tucked in the desk drawer. And in Kaz’s room, where no one ever went beside himself now that she was gone, the drawing of Inej, deep in prayer, could be found on the little table beside his bed, praying for his safety as he would pray for hers if he thought anyone would hear the prayers of a monster such as himself. 

Talking over his suspicions with Jesper later that night, they both agreed that the likelihood of the explanation outweighed the paranoia of the idea. Wylan went to bed that night feeling flattered, finding that his annoyance at Kaz and his thieving ways faded in comparison to the thought that Kaz, who valued so little, had found a bit of value in his work, a little bit of something he had been missing.

Wylan got out of bed the next morning, sought out Jesper, a pen and paper, and his sketchbook, carefully tearing out each one of his prized sketches. How often had Wylan heard his tutors quote that classically Kerch advice to artists- ‘It’s only art if it sells.” But Wylan and his mother believed otherwise. The purpose of art was to make the viewer feel something - joy, hope, peace, anger, longing, the comfort of something to hold on to when nothing was left. It would be wrong for Wylan to keep those things locked inside his sketchbook. 

First, he tore out the sketch of Jesper and his father, presenting it to Jesper to keep or send to Mr. Fahey with his love, smiling at the soft, nostalgic grin that came over Jesper’s face. Next came any sketches of Matthias, almost all of them with Nina. Wylan dictated a letter to Nina, sending his and Jesper’s best wishes and fond memories of Matthias, and the request that she accept the drawings as a small token to remember him by. He enclosed that in a letter addressed to Inej at a port in Ravka where they had made her promise to check for correspondence and send word that she was safe. The letter to Inej also contained much love and many well wishes, and the request to pass the enclosed letter to Nina if and when she found her again in Ravka.  
After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled out one last drawing from his sketchbook. This one could barely be called a sketch, a gesture drawing really, little more than a few lines and planes that Wylan had desperately crammed into the few moments before the moment passed. It was an expression Wylan had never seen on Kaz’s face before, an expression he didn’t even know Kaz’s face could make, and Wylan was no kind of artist if he didn’t at least try to catch the fleeting expression on paper. Kaz’s eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open, the wonder on his face making him look like the seventeen year old boy he was, and making the scars on his face give him the air of vulnerability rather than the usual intimidation. It was Kaz Brekker and yet not - a Kaz minus the facade of bitterness that he usually wore like armor. He asked Jesper to add a postscript to Inej’s letter - he thought that she might like to know what it was that had so transformed Kaz’s face in that instant, what he was seeing that caused him to let his guard drop. Kaz had been looking at her.

The morning ended with Wylan’s heart and his sketchbook much lighter, filled with satisfaction in the knowledge that he had been able to fold life, laughter, memories, and a little bit of himself into an envelope to brighten the days of some of his first friends. He’d left a few pages for himself, for when he felt the loss of the people who had first made him feel accepted after so many years wishing to disappear. 

As a student, Wylan had measured artistic success in technical perfection and the praise of his tutors. Today, as he handed his letter to one of the servants to mail, he measured his success in warm feelings, nostalgic grins, and pieces of sketch paper tucked in pockets. Today, Wylan counted himself more successful than DeKappel himself.

***

Thank you for reading to the end!!

~Booksrgood4u


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